each other and their dual concern would escalate--which wouldn't accomplish anything of value. Marybeth was grateful that Lucy and April were both at church camp so there were two less children to hide her feelings from. But then, at times like these, she wanted all of her children around her. She wanted to be able to shelter and protect them.
She thought of Trey Crump, Joe's district supervisor in Cody He was a good guy, and wouldn't begrudge her calling him for advice. It was still much too early to panic, but if Trey was aware of the situation he might have some ideas on how to proceed, and he was the closest to the moountains--although from the other side--if it were necessary to start a search.
Joe had taken a copy of the directions she had written down when Stewie called, but Marybeth assumed the original was still in the small desktop copier in his office. She noted that Sheridan's eyes were on her as she crossed the family room and entered Joe's office.
'Anything wrong, Mom?' Sheridan asked.
'No, nothing,' Marybeth answered a little too quickly
'Oh, I forgot to tell you,' Sheridan said from her cushions. 'A man came here today and left a letter for Dad.'
Marybeth stepped from the office doorway holding the envelope that was printed with the return address of Whelchel, Bushko, and Marchand, Attorneys at Law
'You need to tell me these things,' Marybeth snapped.
Sheridan did her best 'Hey, I'm innocent' shrug. 'I just did,' she explained. 'Besides, people drop stuff off for Dad all the time.'
Marybeth sighed, knowing Sheridan was right. Still holding the envelope, she found the directions in the copier, exactly where she thought they would be. Then she stared at the writing on the
envelope.
Game Warden. Important.
Important enough to open now, she wondered? Important enough for the game warden's wife to open it?
'Tell me what the man looked like,' she asked Sheridan.
'Jeez, chill, mom,' Sheridan said, turning the television volume down with the remote control. 'He was an older guy probably sixty or so. He had on a cowboy hat and jeans. He had a potbelly and he seemed like a nice guy He said his name was Jim Coble or something like that.'
Marybeth thought about it. The description wasn't much help, except that the man wasn't someone they knew trey crump wasn't at home so Marybeth talked to his wife. They agreed that this kind of situation was maddeningly familiar and would probably reduce both their normal life expectancies. Mrs. Crump said she would have Trey call Marybeth as soon as she heard from him.
'Tell him I'm not panicking,' Marybeth asked. 'That's important.'
Mrs. Crump said she understood.
***
The gentlemen ranchers, the pampered sons of industrialists and shipping magnates and bankers from Europe and New York and Boston, had gotten together and conspired over brandy and cigars and had determined that the local authorities were too stupid, too ineffectual, and too familiar with the rustlers and the settlers to eliminate the problem. What they needed, to preserve the status quo and the dominant concept of open range, was a calculating hired assassin from the outside who would answer only to them.
So Tom Horn was brought in, hired by an associate who could not directly implicate them, to do the job.
The rustlers were criminals, but they were not treated with the condemnation by the public that they deserved, the ranchers thought. Rustlers were often portrayed as dashing cowboy rogues, the last of the frontiersmen. The settlers, who were building shanties (some actually burrowing into the earth like human rodents) and putting up fences on their open range, were thought of as rugged individualists. Public sentiment was growing against the gentlemen ranchers. Locals spoke of a distinction between the ranchers who lived on their land and took on the elements and the markets as opposed to the gentlemen ranchers who lived in Cheyenne and managed their affairs over fine dinners and liquor sent out daily on the Union Pacific.
So the ranchers started a small war. And they were very successful, at least for a while.
Marybeth lowered the book and her eyes burned a hole into the clock above the stove. It was six-thirty and shadows were beginning to grow across the road on Wolf Mountain. Joe hadn't called in. Neither had Trey Crump.
Maybe this is what Ginger Finotta was trying to tell her. Maybe, she thought, the ranchers were going to war again.
She drew the envelope from her pocket. It could be anything. It could be a letter asking about where the man could get permission to hunt. In the Rockies, men generally thought that anything to do with hunting should be labeled 'Important.' And ranchers thought anything that had to do with their land was important.
She ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single folded sheet and read the wavering script.
'Oh My God,' she said aloud.
'Mom, what is it?' Sheridan called from the other room.
Part Three.
